Дэвид Балдаччи - One Good Deed

“Look, I’m no better or worse than other men on that score. You know her?”

Jackie sat back and ran a finger down her glass of gin. “Not really. Seen her around. She seems a little—”

“—wound like a clock? Yeah, seems that way to me, too.”

“It’s sad she’s all by herself with only a book to keep her company.”

“Books can be good for you.”

“You don’t strike me as a book reader, Archer, despite your two years in college,” she said skeptically.

“You’re wrong there. I been reading books a lot lately. Good friends to help pass the time.”

“Did you have time you wanted to pass?”

“Don’t we all?”

“What’d you study in college?”

“Mostly the co-eds.”

“You’re a laugh a minute until you’re not.”

Archer looked around once more and flinched when he saw three men sitting at a table in another corner of the restaurant. Two of them were hardened, uncouth types with greasy hats and slovenly chins. The other one was Dickie Dill. He was eating his steak blood-rare and cutting it not with the restaurant’s cutlery but with a switchblade. That was disturbing enough, but all three men were also snatching glances at Crabtree, and then talking and laughing. That all set Archer’s nerves on edge.

When one of the men rose and headed toward Crabtree’s table, Archer said to Jackie, “Excuse me for a minute.”

He beat the gent to the table by a half second. Crabtree looked up first at the man and then at Archer.

“Mr. Archer, what are you doing here?” she said.

“Saw you sitting here and came over to say hello.” Archer glanced at the man. “Hey, friend, you know Miss Crabtree, too?”

“Not as well as I want to,” barked the man. “Three’s company, so beat it, pal.” He was larger than Archer, with a broad chest and thick arms.

Archer said, “I would beat it, but I also have business with the lady.”

“What sort of business?”

“The personal kind.”

“Like I give a damn.” The man reached out to grip Archer’s shoulder, but Archer deftly blocked the man’s thrust and took the hand in a firm shake. So firm, in fact, that the man’s eyes started to wince. With his other hand Archer held the man’s other arm tight against his side.

“Mr. Archer,” said Crabtree. “What are you doing?”

“Just having a gab with this nice man.”

“It looks like you’re hurting him.”

“Naw. I’m not hurting you, am I, fella?”

“You better let go before I get riled,” said the man, his eyes watering now with the pressure Archer was applying.

Archer glanced over at Dill to see the little man watching him intently, his blade held point up.

“I mean no harm, friend. But I sort of have to insist on you going back to your table and I’ll do the same. You can see that Miss Crabtree is busy right now, so the respectful thing to do is walk away.” Archer gave the hand another firm squeeze, and the look in his eyes was of a man who was not going to be denied.

The man looked down at the paper and the pen as Archer increased the pressure on the gent’s fingers.

“I’ll come back ’nuther time then,” he said hoarsely.

Archer slowly let go and stepped back. “Well, you might want to find somebody else to talk to. Dickie over there is a nice one. I know you’re eating with him and all already.”

Crabtree jerked her head to look in that direction, then she glanced up wide-eyed at Archer.

Before the man left, Archer pulled him close and said into his ear, “I’m just outta Carderock myself, pal. One thing I learned about Miss Crabtree, they got the law watching her all the time, case people like you and me make a move like you just tried to do. Dickie gave me the same advice about the Cat’s Meow. Just trying to help you out, friend. You take care.”

The man looked goggle-eyed at Archer, gave a searching glance around the restaurant, turned, and hurried back to his table, where he sat and immediately entered into a serious discussion with the other two while shooting glances back at Archer.

Archer looked down at Crabtree. “Sorry about that, ma’am. Didn’t mean to interrupt your meal.”

“No, um, that’s fine. I, well, thank you, Mr. Archer.” She paused. “What did you just tell him?”

“Nothing important. I take it he’s one of your parolees.”

“How did you know that?”

“He’s not drinking.”

“Oh, yes. Dan Bullock. He was released three weeks ago.”

“Right. Well, I was just wishing him luck in his new life.” Before she could respond he glanced down at the paper and saw the writing there along with a title at the top of the page.

“You a writer? You working on a story?”

She covered the page with her hand. “I... just scribble.”

“Well, okay. See you at our next meeting.”

“Yes.”

He walked back to join Jackie.

“What was all that about?” she exclaimed as he sat down.

“Just heading off a little bit of trouble.”

“Seemed like you knew her.”

“Didn’t I say? I just met her walking around town. Nice lady.”

She glanced at the table with the three men.

“I think you might have made some enemies, Archer.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time. But I think it’ll be okay.”

“A woman like that is a target, unfortunately.”

“Why’s that?”

“She doesn’t have a man with her,” said Jackie matter-of-factly.

He stubbed out his Chesterfield when their food came. They ate their meal mostly in silence. Archer had things he wanted to ask but was afraid to, something he usually wasn’t, especially with a woman. But this was a woman the likes of which he had never really encountered before. He had an unsettling notion that she might be more than a match for him. Ernestine Crabtree, too. Poca City seemed to have its share of independent women designed to scare the bejesus out of him.

Jackie insisted on paying and Archer didn’t protest too much, since he would have had to dig into the dregs of his remaining cash to do so. Still, a woman should not pay for a man’s meal. It just wasn’t done.

“You have any work needs doing, let me know. I can pay off the meal.”

She ran an appraising eye over him. “Oh, I’ll let you know all right. You might come in very handy for what I need .”

Jackie then gave him such a look that Archer felt himself blush for one of the few times in his life.

As they walked out, Archer thought he saw Ernestine glance at him, but that also might have been his imagination. Dickie and his pals had long since left. Archer kept a sharp eye out for them on the street but saw neither hide nor hair of the terrible trio.

It was warm, the air still bone dry as they walked along.

“Does any moisture ever creep into the ether here?” he asked.

“Now and again, but not so you’d notice much. We’re pretty far from the ocean.”

“Guess so.”

“It does brittle your skin. I have to slather on moisturizer after I get out of the bathtub.”

Okay, thought Archer, that was a deliberately low blow, designed to knock him off his stride. And it succeeded beautifully. He nearly ran into a lamppost.

Jackie entwined his arm with hers and said, “You want to head over to the Cat’s Meow? We could do some dancing and quench our thirst for real. No bender, just a couple of highballs.”

“Aren’t you Pittleman’s gal?”

“We see each other from time to time. But I’m not his ‘gal.’ He provides for me.”

“Okay.”

“So you want to go drinking and dancing?”

“I’ll have to take a rain check on that.”

She did not look pleased by his refusal. “I might not ask again.”